“Saint Tekla, who did nothing much and then left.”
It’s my answer to a getting-to-know-you question asked in circles where esoteric knowledge is riffed off more knowledge and a recipe can devolve into a dissertation on the chicken yodeler or whether Sufjan Stevens cries during sex (probably).
These are the miracles of Saint Tekla: She sat by a window for three days. She was sentenced to be eaten by beasts but the female beasts would not let the male beasts eat her. She lived a long time and when she was done she walked behind a waterfall and left.
She was alive, and then she maybe wasn’t, and that’s all. I like that about her.
Lately I’ve found myself in need of other saints.
I’m late to this eulogy, I know. But they started the Bible in 1400 BCE and wrapped it up around 90 CE so I’ve got time.
You’re supposed to begin a story about a saint with her martyrdom. We’ll get there. First I want to tell you about what it was like when I was a kid.
You’ve probably seen movies about being a kid in the 80’s. And it wasn’t unlike that. We had our Breakfast Clubs, our Goonies (I was definitely a Goonie). We played Ninja Turtles or Thundercats or He-Man. And the boys played Star Wars.
I want to be clear about that, because it’s important. If we were playing Ninja Turtles I could be April. Or I could pretend to be a boy so I could be a turtle. The Thundercats had Cheetara, and He-Man had Teela. And you’d think Star Wars would have been a no-brainer with a girl in your gang, but there was something about Princess Leia, you know? She decided who to kiss and when. She led missions. She gave orders. Better to just be Han Solo and Luke, no Leia. If you let a girl play Leia, what happened when she didn’t want to stop?
In Blues Brothers, there’s a character with no name. She does, however, have a rocket launcher. And a grudge.
Carrie Fisher’s website lists her vocations as actor, author, mental health advocate. You’ll note the lack of the -ess suffix. Princess Leia grew up and became General Leia, and along the way she found drugs, eating disorders, and the utter lack of fucks it requires to send an Oscar-winning producer a cow tongue and a warning.
To be fair, it’s more warning than she gave Jake Blues.
I’m usually good at separating actors from the characters they play. I’m usually better about drawing a line between Carrie Fisher and Princess Leia. I rarely grieve when celebrities die.
But I grieve for victims of systems. For martyrs and saints, however unwilling. For the murdered, who are someone’s kin. And Carrie Fisher was, absolutely, murdered.
How can you say it’s not killing us, every day, to be women?
How can you say it’s not, when we starve ourselves to be worthy of rape and catcalls? When we can’t access medicines we need to stay alive, whether they are for mind or body? When most medical studies don’t even include women? When some of us can’t use the goddamn bathroom in peace? We don’t even own our bodies.
“… you know it’s not just a bad picture but a scornful reminder of just how old you’re getting and how fat you’ve gotten— not only a reminder of what you once were but also of what you no longer are and never will be again. And, as if that wasn’t enough, some stranger owns this horrific image and is free to do whatever with it in private or with his friends.” -Carrie Fisher
His friends. Not “their” friends, or even “his or her” friends. You know she was smart enough to make the distinction.
How can that not be murder by inches, a little more poison every day, a little more taken into our veins?
We don’t need more Teklas. We need harpy saints now, saints with claws and rocket launchers and body parts in Tiffany boxes. We need Boudiccas and Raden Ajeng Kartinis, Mirabal sisters and Harriet Tubmans.
I’m going to see The Last Jedi this week with a bunch of techbros, and I’m going to grit my teeth every second Leia’s onscreen because they won’t understand this weird grief that is and isn’t for her and for all of us at once.
And when I get home I’ll light a candle to Saint Carrie of the Rocket Launcher.
Oh yes, I am so with you on this one! We need some harpy saints, some heroines – or should I call them ‘heroes’ – who fight back with a vengeance to right the ‘wrong’ that has been happening all around us!
I love ‘saints with claws and rocket launchers.’
This feels raw and passionate and desperate. It took me awhile to figure out where you were going, but once there, I followed you fine. It’s not that the news is so surprising. It’s just that the magnitude of the problem is so depressing.
I feel like the whole first half of the essay is me promising that there will be a second half, but I also think that base was important to getting to the second half. Also I really wanted to write something with the phrase “harpy saints” in it, so there’s that.
Maybe I’m missing the Catholic part. I like “harpy saints.” But “claws and rocket launchers” is still a better mental image.
Maybe it’s the release of the new Star Wars movie, maybe it’s the general air of dystopia the world has devolved into, but almost everyone I know is missing Saint Carrie this week. I am here for all the harpy saints and the womxn they inspire.
A-fucking-men. And A, fucking men. Carrie Fisher’s imperfections were her perfections. I think she’s as worthy as any for harpy sainthood, too.
I actually like the way you meandered into the second half of your essay. It speaks to the complexity of your feelings. (Also, “harpy saints” is perfect.)
‘Murder by inches, a little poison every day’ has such a resonant effect.Your essay is packed with power and reality.
I really enjoyed the tone of this essay, it’s irreverent but it says something important. Bring on the St.Harpy!
As usual, you speak truth with exquisite writing.
“Harpy saints” for the win!
I recently listened to both “Wishful Drinking” and “The Princess Diarist” and I’m so glad I did. Her honesty and perspective were refreshing and will be missed.
“How can you say it’s not, when we starve ourselves to be worthy of rape and catcalls? When we can’t access medicines we need to stay alive, whether they are for mind or body? When most medical studies don’t even include women? When some of us can’t use the goddamn bathroom in peace? We don’t even own our bodies.” THIS ALL FUCKING DAY.
Yes yes and YES.
I was also initially wondering where this was headed but massively enjoyed the thoughtful route you took into the second part. So relevant to this week with the new film.
I watched it last night, and I gotta say, that every scene I scrunched my face and narrowed my eyes in an attempt to will away the tears. I can honestly say it never worked. You’ve said exactly what I couldn’t about Carrie with your words here. Thank you! ❤
You are such a good writer. I love the way you left the saints so effortlessly and pulled us back there so easily in the end. I miss Saint Carrie too. I was 13 when the first Star Wars came out so she made a big impression. I am going to see the movie next weekend and I cannot wait!
Also, your title is perfection.